


river running violet

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Telling of The Blade of Marmora, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clones, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Galra Keith, M/M, Non-Linear Depiction of Time, PINING KEITH, POV Keith, time-travel, timey wimey shenanigans, writing experiment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 01:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Keith has been running for too long.





	river running violet

He does not stop running.

It’s difficult to piece apart which lifespan or timeframe he inhabits at any given interval; time bends, loops and swirls between his fingers, pirouetting in dizzying spirals beyond the boundary of his horizons. Above him, the stars vanish into dawn before reappearing in an endless nightscape, twinkling themselves into supernovae. 

Keith’s heels crumble apart into splintering slabs of skin.

He cannot stop now. Not ever.

Though his surroundings transform at mindbreaking speed, he remains unchanged; the dark uniform bequeathed to all who desire the Blade adorns his skin with the snug embrace of a lovesworn companion. He likens the material’s elasticity to a flexible prison, one that grants him the tantalising illusion of freedom.

Throughout these dark spells, he dwells on Shiro.

Intermingling with memories of whispered encouragement, Keith savours illusions of Shiro’s warmth coating his throat, Shiro’s tongue slathering the divots of his ribcage, their bodies pressed close, following one another through their decrescendo rhythm.

He might pause now if only to simulate the sensation of Shiro taking him in this starswept dune, their bodies buried in starlit sand, the desert wind drowning his moans.

Right then, Shiro’s clone taunts him again.

Before, Keith took comfort in this automaton’s identity. With an openhearted eagerness, he swallowed this Shiro’s structured sentences, absorbed their grammatical consistencies, adhered to their commanding whims.

Now, he mirrors his stance when the _real_ Shiro engages him in bouts of sparring; feet held almost equidistant, barely lifting his right foot should the need arise to lunge. His arms he positions in a rounded arc, shielding his chest. 

“Stop _daydreaming,_ Keith.”

He doesn’t dignify this utterance with a response. This Shiro doesn’t need that validation.

“You think I’m tricking you?”

_You can’t yield to him!_

Shiro’s clone barks out a laugh: “If you think I’m some sadistic plaything your mind conjured up, then fine; that’s all I am.”

“No!”

Keith might not yield to this monster, this demonic menace in this reality, but he fucks Shiro in his dreams, spits in his mouth right when he wakes up bathed in his own want.

He can’t submit to that frisson thinning his stomach lining into purring acid. 

“If I can’t make love to you when I’m lucid,” he says, “then I’m within my right to deny myself this chance.”

He’ll go on subsisting on his dreams, shaking, mourning unfulfilled promises, living for desperate wishes on dying stars. 

His fangs threaten to pool from his gums in gushing red multitudes. Stinging, dripping liquid gold, his eyes swell with glowing tears.

He didn’t ask for this hyperfixation on his body’s transformation. He pulses through each stage of his Galra evolution, analysing every violet hue blanketing his cheekbones, his fingertips, the edges of his neck. He blinks through the agonising tug of his expanding ears, winces as his fans elongate, hardening. 

He does not want this hyperawareness, but were he to mangle it, his heart might follow, and with it his home. 

“Shiro?”

Keith’s re-evaluated the true meaning of home through one friend, standing right where his clone vanished, gazing at Keith in ageless wonderment.

“Shiro, how long have I been running?”

He doesn’t answer Keith right away. Opening his arms, he slides back on his right heel when Keith barrels into his chest, scraping his arms down Shiro’s back as he chokes on gasping sobs.

His prosthetic massaging into Keith’s scalp, Shiro says, “You’ve been gone long enough for premature mourning.”

“ _Shiro_ ,” and here, Keith drags his mouth outward, lancing a trail of spit jutting from his bottom lip with his tongue, “my love for you transcends the boundaries of our known universe. Death can write up all the warrants He wants, but I’ll evade His captors if it means I can love you till our universe burns itself out again and again and again.”

Clenching his prosthetic round Keith’s ass, Shiro hauls him up, his white tuft grazing Keith’s forehead. Parting Keith’s mouth with his teeth, Shiro kisses him hard. His tongue flatlining down the roof of Shiro’s mouth, Keith angles his head, purring.

Slung down his waist, the Blade glows. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
> Short comments  
> Long comments  
> Questions  
> “<3” as extra kudos  
> Reader-reader interaction  
> This author replies to comments.


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